


Celebrations

by alternatealto



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatealto/pseuds/alternatealto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different people celebrate different things in different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrations

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-season 8, before the final arc.

**Celebrations**

 

 

Wilson’s alarm went off.

This wouldn’t have been unusual, except that it was a Sunday, he wasn’t working, and he didn’t remember setting the alarm the night before. Or rather, he _did_ remember _not_ setting it the night before, which had actually been earlier this morning. Blearily, he slapped at the snooze button, but instead of the alarm clock his hand hit something small, round – and filled with goo.

“Blech! What the—?” He sat up, looking from his dripping left hand to the thing on the nightstand. It was – had been – an egg. A bright pink egg, judging from the remains of the shell. He stared at it a moment in puzzlement.   It definitely hadn’t been there when he went to bed; he wasn’t in the habit of leaving raw eggs on the furniture. So it must have come from somewhere.

Correction: _someone_.

He sighed and used his right hand to throw back the blankets. First he’d clean up the mess, then he’d get hold of House and see what this was all about.

 _Crunch_.

He looked down. This egg had been purple. The one next to it, which he’d managed to miss stepping on, was teal.

Fuming, he set off for the kitchen.

* * * * *

Half an hour later he’d cleaned up the bedroom, disposing of the mess in the kitchen trash can, and located more eggs: a pastel yellow one tucked inside his favorite coffee mug and one in spring green balanced precariously on top of a framed picture in the hall. Sarah was sulking because he’d taken away the orange one she’d been batting around the living room floor. That made six. Knowing House, the rest of the dozen were in the loft _somewhere._ He’d better keep looking.

Egg number seven was on the sofa, cunningly dyed to match the upholstery but given away by Sarah, who sniffed at it, then realized it was a replacement for the fascinating toy she’d been deprived of. Wilson managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He wasn’t so lucky with the vermillion-dyed eighth egg, which had been balanced on top of the door to the den and kept from rolling off with a tiny piece of duct tape until he pushed the door just hard enough to overcome the adhesive and let the egg fall on his head. This one turned out to be hard-boiled:   he didn’t know whether to be grateful there was no mess to clean up, or pissed about the lump he could feel forming on his skull.

But surprisingly, he found he wasn’t all that upset – he was starting to get into the fun of the hunt now.   The lobby produced two more; a black egg sat on one of the black tiles and he wasted a good five minutes looking at all the white tiles before he realized that there was no point to dyeing eggs white. Trying to think like House, he found an emerald one in the middle of the fake potted plant in one corner.

Only two more to go. He stood in the lobby, thinking. Where else would House be likely to hide . . . ? Oh, of course. He headed for the one room he hadn’t yet inspected for brightly-colored ovoids.

Sure enough, one deep maroon and one sky-blue egg were sitting ostentatiously side by side in the center of the bed in the second bedroom. He approached them with caution, alert for tripwires, hidden cameras, or other possible fiendish devices, but there was no obvious sign of any such thing. When he picked them up, they seemed to be no more than ordinary eggs dyed maroon and blue. He took them back to the kitchen, added them to the rest of his colorful collection, grabbed his cell phone and pushed the first speed-dial setting.

“House, what the hell is this about?”

“Well, aren’t we Mr. Sunny-side-up in the morning?” He could hear the smirk. “What could be more traditional than an egg hunt on Easter?”

“Actually, almost anything would be, considering that I’m Jewish.”

“Eggs are symbols of spring, just like fluffy chicks and fuzzy bunnies. Which reminds me, you obviously haven’t looked in your bathtub yet.”

“No. Oh, god, don’t tell me you – ” He just barely missed tripping over Sarah in his headlong rush down the hall.

“His name is Harvey,” House said cheerfully as Wilson skidded into the bathroom and leaned over the tub.

‘Harvey’ was a very large, dark brown rabbit.

Made of chocolate.

“You – you—” The combination of adrenaline and relief made Wilson slightly dizzy; he sat down on the toilet to recover, still clutching the phone. “You _ass._ Do you actually expect me to eat – how much does this thing weigh, anyway?”

“Ten pounds of best Belgian dark chocolate,” House said proudly. “And you don’t have to eat it all yourself, you know. Bring it along with you when you meet me for breakfast.”

“Bring – ? Where?”

“To the restaurant.”

“And which restaurant would that be?”

“If you can’t figure it out, make an omelet.” And House rang off.

Wilson stared at the phone, exasperated. Then he picked up Harvey by the ears, grateful that House had at least left the plastic wrapper in place, and went to find somewhere to put it where Sarah couldn’t get at it, after which he sat down at the kitchen island to think.

So, evidently House was waiting for him in a restaurant somewhere, expecting Wilson to somehow figure out which, of all the restaurants in Princeton, was the one he’d chosen. He sighed as he realized that he was already making mental lists, narrowing House’s known favorite eating places down to a few likely choices. Even then there were too many possibilities, and House had probably steered away from any of them just to make things more difficult, and why the hell was he doing this, anyway? House and the damned videogames were the reason he hadn’t gotten to bed until well past two in the morning, after all. He should just go back to sleep and let House sit and wait for him. It would serve the bastard right if Wilson took his suggestion, made an omelet for breakfast, and then just crawled back into bed until afternoon.

“Make an omelet.” Wilson found himself staring at the bowl on the counter as realization sank in. Of course. He couldn’t make an omelet without . . .

One by one, he picked up the eggs in the bowl and examined them. Most of them appeared to be ordinary, if colorful, hen’s eggs. But when he picked up the maroon one, he was immediately aware of a subtle difference in weight between it and the others, and a more thorough examination showed that this one had been blown out, re-filled, and the holes blocked with wax that was nearly the same shade as the dye. Cautiously, he leaned over the sink and gave the egg a sharp tap against the edge of it.

The egg didn’t so much crack as explode: a white cloud of scented talcum powder and paper confetti puffed out into the sink, and Wilson dropped the whole thing, fishing amongst the shards for what he knew had to be there. Sure enough: a slip of paper with an address and “10:30” written on it. A glance at the kitchen clock confirmed that he would just about have time to shower, dress, and meet House there.

* * * * *

He walked into The Breakfast Nest at 10:30 on the dot, and made his way past waitresses and other customers to the booth near the back where House was waving at him. He slid into the seat across from the other man.

“Okay. I’m here. Mind telling me what this is all about?”

“And a cheery good morning to you, too!” House responded with exaggerated good humor. “Waitress! My friend here will have coffee, toast, home fries, hash, and lots and _lots_ of eggs.”

Wilson sighed, changed the order to coffee, a single fried egg, and a rye bagel with cream cheese, and glared across the table at the other man once the waitress had left. “Notwithstanding _your_ fondness for eggs, some of us are actually trying to watch our cholesterol intake.”  

“Spoilsport.” House was making inroads on what had to be the “Wild and Woolly Southwestern Style Skillet Breakfast”, which seemed to consist mostly of eggs, cheese and an abundance of _jalapeño_ peppers. It was hard to tell what else might be there, since House had doused the entire platter with tabasco sauce. Wilson could feel his own stomach twisting just at the sight.

“So, again, what’s going on?”

“Wanted to meet you for breakfast,” House replied through a mouthful of mixed capsicum.

“And of course you couldn’t just call me, as anyone else might have done.”

“No, because you would have gone right back to sleep again. This was both more effective and more fun. Admit it, you’re definitely awake now.”

“True. You, on the other hand, probably didn’t get any sleep at all, since you seem to have spent the night booby-trapping my place.”

House shrugged. “I don’t grudge a night’s sleep in a good cause.”

“House . . .”

“Okay. I’m celebrating. This is a time of renewal.”

“I had no idea Easter was so important to you,” Wilson commented drily.

“Of course it is. Easter, Halloween, Christmas . . . much better than all those sugar-free holidays like Memorial Day. But that’s not the point. As of tomorrow, I am officially on the road to freedom.”

“What? House, your probation . . .” Wilson broke off his sentence as another thought hit him. “Wait, you mean Dominika . . . ?”

“Hearing was expedited; this time we passed with flying colors and she has her heart’s desire. She’s already got plans to move out. I’ll be back to my swinging bachelor lifestyle in no time.”

“I see. So, that’s what we’re celebrating?”

“Yep. Did you bring Harvey?”

“He’s right next to you,” Wilson said with a straight face.

“Ooh, invisible chocolate rabbits. Now you’re getting into the spirit of things.”

The waitress brought Wilson’s order. He dipped a piece of bagel into his egg yolk and chewed thoughtfully, looking at House, who had returned to his plateful of peppers. There was something else here, something he was missing. Missing . . .

“You’ll miss her,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

House’s eyes flicked up to meet his, then back down to his plate. “Nope,” he said, just a shade too slowly, “She’s no better in the putting-out department than you are. Cooks better, though.”

“Of course. Silly of me to think you might actually have enjoyed her companionship, or just appreciated having someone to come home to.” He sipped his coffee and watched the other man narrowly.

“I’ve been thinking of getting a dog,” House said, blandly. “Or maybe I’ll steal some more of the med school’s lab rats.” He kept his eyes on his plate.

“House, there’s nothing wrong with admitting that you’ll miss someone who’s been part of your life for nearly two years.”

“She got what she wanted out of it,” House said bitterly. “And so did I,” he added quickly, in a falsely hearty tone.   He still wasn’t meeting Wilson’s eyes.

Wilson looked at him for a moment without speaking. Then he signalled the waitress and reached into his hip pocket for his wallet. Opening the change holder, he took something out and slid it across the table to the other man before handing enough cash to the waitress to cover both their meals with a generous tip.

“Come on,” he said, standing up.

House sat frozen, staring at the key on the table. When he spoke, his tone was brittle. “What’s this?”

“That,” Wilson said, “ is the key to my place.”

“I don’t need it, you moron. Or did the egg that landed on your head leave you with short-term memory problems? I’ve _got_ a key to your place.”

“No, what you’ve got is a _copy_ of the key to my place. This,” Wilson told him, “is the key I _want_ you to have.”

House finally looked up at him then: a long, considering look.

“Come on,” Wilson said again. “Harvey’s already back there waiting for us.”

House got up without replying.   But as they turned away from the table, Wilson noticed that the key was gone.


End file.
